


It's Raining Men, Amen

by DoctorSyntax



Series: The Precinct [1]
Category: Castle
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Banter, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 22:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorSyntax/pseuds/DoctorSyntax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dance partner that management teams Kevin up with is kind of hilariously grumpy on top of being ridiculously hot. The first time they get mostly-naked together, it's to the soothing sounds of The Weather Girls. God bless Mother Nature indeed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Raining Men, Amen

The dance partner that management teams Kevin up with is kind of hilariously grumpy on top of being ridiculously hot. He also takes this whole "taking your clothes off for money" gig a _little_ too seriously, which is why Kevin finds himself at the club the afternoon before his first night up on the stage with professional hotass Javier Esposito, rehearsing and re-rehearsing their debut performance as a pair, "It's Raining Men."

What? It's not like they picked the song. Gates did. And Kevin's only been an employee of The Precinct for two days, but he's pretty sure their stage manager is a pod person who recharges her batteries by torturing her minions with awful, awful song choices. It's a shame she isn't here, now, actually, because they've done this eight times already and Javier's still saying there's something not quite right about the routine and that it has to be perfect before it debuts tomorrow night. He'd also mumbled something about the first time he's had a male partner since Ike left, whatever that means, but didn't really delve into detail. Anyway, the point being: eight times, starting in on a ninth; Kevin's despair would keep Gates going like the Energizer Bunny for at least a year, if only she was around to witness it.

Privately, he's glad she isn't. It's not like they suck. They're actually pretty great. If Kevin were a different sort he might delicately cough and wonder aloud if Javier's anal-retentive approach to routine choreographing was actually just a flimsy excuse to get his hands all over Kevin's (sweet, seriously fine) body. But it's no fun to give him shit about that kind of thing unless someone else is around to overhear, so Kevin just sighs and shakes it out as Javier cues up the song for a _ninth fucking time_. The way it echoes in the empty desolation of the club is seriously depressing, so Kevin mouths along with the intro, pointing in turn at imaginary customers, throwing out winks and heated looks.

_Hi! (Hi!) We're your weather girls! And have we got neeeews for you! (Better listen!) Get ready, all you lonely girls, and leave those umbrellas at home!_

Javier wants to lead (as much as one can when it comes to stripping, anyway) and Kevin's inclined to let him. Why bother to muscle for position when he can just position himself against Javier's muscles and go with the flow? And—god, it's good, the push-and-pull effortless like it never has with anyone else Kevin's ever danced with. So good even Mr. Grumpy Gills has to be impressed, somewhere, deep down, whether he wants to let on or not. It doesn't matter. They're going to nail this tomorrow night. Rake in the tips, make a few smart investments and retire early. Live happily ever after.

Okay, so maybe Kevin's getting ahead of himself a bit, there.

About two-thirds of the way through the song there's some clapping the exact rhythm of that song at the end of Dirty Dancing, the one where Patrick Swayze leaps off the stage and starts snapping his fingers. Kevin, never one to suppress an urge—because, let's face it, his sudden flashes of inspiration are unilaterally brilliant, and also, _nine times_ , he's practically delirious at this point—mimics the famous move and prowls his way down the aisle where the dancers are allowed to roam freely if they leave the actual stage.

He doesn't look behind him to see if Javier's following, confident that he is; or, if not, that he's standing on the stage gazing at him adoringly just like Baby did to Johnny. After what he figures is probably the appropriate length of time (because there's no way he has it timed down to the second, okay; he might be gay but that doesn't mean he has every word of Dirty Dancing memorized, how much of a cliché do you think he is?) he turns around finger-snaps his way back down toward the stage, where Javier is waiting. Kevin can't make out his expression because there's sweat in his eyes, but he's pretty sure it's adoring.

He mouths the next words in the song _For the first time in history—_ and spreads his arms, fully expecting Javier to take a running leap into them. What? He can totally lift Javier's weight above his head. Maybe.

It turns out to be irrelevant, all his half-baked fantasies about Javier being his Jennifer Grey and swooning with a few well-placed hip thrusts stutter and die like a needle scratching across a record when Javier just stands there with his arms folded and one eyebrow raised.

After standing frozen in place like a moron for the length of _It's gonna start raining men!_ Kevin drops his arms to the side with a put-upon sigh. "Seriously?"

The Weather Girls chime in with an unfortunately-timed _Hallelujah! It's raining men!_ as the full weight of Javier's complete and utter disapproval rains down upon Kevin. It's pretty hard to radiate censure when you're wearing nothing but a strategically-placed, canary-yellow sou'wester, but Javier must have a lot of practice or something, because god _damn_.

"Oh my god," Kevin huffs, after an interminable second of displeased silence. "Fine. I won't do that when there are customers around."

"Better not do that again, ever," Javier clarifies, jumping down off the stage. "Are you for real, dude? Gates didn't just bring you in to fuck with me?"

And, well. That kind of actually hurts Kevin's feelings. Not that he will ever, ever admit it because he can already tell Javier's the kind of person who doesn't respond well to _feelings_ , but he can't help the slight pout of his mouth when he answers, "No."

"Really? So that whole Dirty Dancing thing, that was you being serious?"

His words drip scorn but a smile tugs at the corner of Kevin's mouth before he can suppress it. Oh my god. Oh, holy jesus and all the saints on pogo sticks. This is too good to be true. No way does the universe love him _this_ much.

Javier stares at him blankly. "What?"

The grin Kevin was fighting breaks across his face. "How did you know it was Dirty Dancing?"

Javier scoffs, but not before Kevin catches the split-second where he's totally at a loss. Maybe the universe does love him that much after all. "Come on, that scene is iconic."

"Not that iconic." Kevin's grin spreads a little wider, threatening to break his face in half. "You've totally seen that movie! More than once!"

"Of course I have, I have a sister and little baby nieces and—come on, everyone's seen Dirty Dancing."

"Is it your favorite sleepover movie? Top five? Let me guess, Patrick Swayze is totally dreamy but nothing tops Beaches. Or are you a Flashdance kind of guy?" At Javier's stony glare Kevin recoils in mock horror. "Don't tell me you're a Pretty Woman devotee, dude, that's way dangerous in our line of work."

"Kevin Ryan, I am going to break your face," Javier menaces, folding his arms. But the slight hunch of his shoulders inward, like he's trying to curl up in on himself and die of shame, takes all the intimidation out of his words. Kevin cackles gleefully.

"Aww, baby, don't be like that."

"Don't call me Baby," Javier snaps, grabbing his jeans off the ground and shaking them out before pulling them on hastily.

"That's right, I forgot. Your real name is… Frances, right? Frances Houseman?"

Javier throws up his hands in disgust. Or defeat. Kevin's not sure which. "I'm leaving. We'll wing it tomorrow night, and if you suck so bad you get us fired, I'll kill you in your sleep."

Normally a threat like that from a guy like Javier is something Kevin takes seriously—he has delicate bones, okay?—but not this time. It barely even registers in the face of the too-much-fun Kevin's having. "Come back!" he hollers at Javier's retreating back, unable to choke down his amusement. "Nobody puts Javi in a corner!"

That earns him the middle finger, although Javier doesn't slow his stride or turn around or look over his shoulder or anything. Kevin's so far beyond caring at this point, laughing too hard to keep himself upright, and he stumbles backward, tripping over one of the steps going up to the stage and plants his ass hard. Tears sting at the corner of his eyes and he doesn't even wipe them away, clutching at his sides where they're stitching; too focused on trying to gasp in oxygen around hysterical laughter to do anything else.

He cannot _wait_ to push Javier's buttons full-time, every Tuesday through Saturday. This is the best fucking job ever.


End file.
